


Goodness Knows, the Wicked Die Alone

by echoes_of_realities



Category: Wicked - All Media Types, Wicked - Schwartz/Holzman
Genre: Angst, F/F, musical verse, warning that this is not a happy ending lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-27 15:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12584660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_realities/pseuds/echoes_of_realities
Summary: Elphaba has been on the run for nearly thirty years when she finally works up the courage to return to Oz, to return to Glinda. But three decades is a long time, and Elphaba worries that Glinda might have forgotten her in all that time.The truth is far more devastating.





	1. no one mourns the wicked

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the musical verse. I just really wanted to write angst for some reason, and what I usually write for doesn’t really lend itself to angst (B99 is like the most heartwarming show I know so), unfortunately Gelphie and Wicked is too easy to write angst for. This comes from an unconditional love for Glinda’s character arc and how truly alone she ends up at the end of the musical, and also from [these](http://goodliest.tumblr.com/post/151319208493) [posts](http://cathywellerstein.tumblr.com/post/108986681968/and-goodness-knows) that imply Glinda was singing about herself during _No One Mourns the Wicked_ and made me think about that song in a whole new way and also broke my heart. 
> 
> Also, fair warning, I’m not particularly fond of Fiyero, especially in the musical, and especially Fiyero x Elphaba in the musical. (“It wasn’t like that!” “Well, it was. But it wasn’t.” Like come on man, wtf.) But more on that at the end.
> 
> This is going to be three chapters long and I'll post chapter 2 tomorrow and chapter 3 the next day. I just have to edit them but I also have two minor assignments due tomorrow that I need to finish first.

_and goodness knows_

_the wicked’s lives are lonely_

_goodness knows_

_the wicked die alone_

_it just shows when you’re wicked_

_you’re left only on your own_

 

* * *

 

It’s nearly thirty years after she left Oz when Elphaba gets the courage to return. It’s taken nearly thirty years to admit she made a mistake in leaving Oz, though it only took her seconds to know leaving a certain blonde behind was a mistake.

Such a small moment in exchange for a lifetime of regret.

Where Elphaba finally finds the courage to do this she’s not sure, but she does know she needs to leave before she loses that courage.

“What are you doing?” a voice asks from the doorway. Elphaba ignores him and continues to throw things she needs in her bag: an extra cloak, a toothbrush, a wingless wooden bird from her father, some hair ties, extra socks, Nessa’s favourite hair pin, some non-perishable food, a small spell book from Shiz that she borrowed from her roommate and never returned, that dumb pink plastic flower from the night after the Ozdust she could never bring herself to get rid of. 

“Elphaba,” Fiyero says, his voice dangerously low, “What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving,” Elphaba says abruptly, pulling the drawstrings of her bag closed. Her boots are already on and her cloak is been tied around her neck, she starts towards her broomstick but Fiyero jumps in her way. “I’m going back to Oz.”

“Elphaba that’s insane!”

Elphaba’s lip curls as she regards Fiyero’s scarecrow body. She had long stopped feeling a twinge of guilt every time she saw it, and the resentment had started to creep in. It was him, after all, who convinced her to leave Glinda behind. “No, what’s insane is that it’s taken me this long to do so.”

“No, I refuse to let you go,” Fiyero says.

Elphaba cackles but there’s not an ounce of amusement in the laugh. “You can’t stop me.”

“They’ll kill you!” he protests.

“They won’t remember me.”

“Elphaba you’re _green._ ”

“It’s been twenty-nine years.”

“Elphaba you can’t,” he’s begging now.

Elphaba regards him coldly. Her affection for him had dried once she realized that what she felt for him wasn’t romantic love, it never had been. She was young and foolish, and she had loved the idea of Fiyero choosing her, of someone putting her first, but she hadn’t loved him, not really. They had already had this conversation, years ago, and Fiyero had agreed; he had loved the idea of someone who didn’t care what people thought, but he hadn’t loved her, not really. The following decades were spent in affectionate companionship, but even that had started to fade as resentment grew between them and communication faltered. They both supposed they should have considered their affection more than they did before condemning themselves to a half life with each other.

Of course, they never say this out loud, it’s too late for that.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Elphaba snarls without emotion. 

“Well, then, I’m coming with you,” Fiyero declares.

Elphaba frowns at him in irritation. “No. This is something I have to do alone. This is between Glinda and I.”

“And wasn’t I always between Glinda and you?” Fiyero jokes weakly.

Elphaba turns a hard stare on him. It’s not the first time she’s looked at him with that empty look, those had only gotten more frequent as the years went on; at this point the only time Elphaba ever looked at him with some semblance of emotion was when he mentioned Glinda, and even then it was usually only to glare at him in poorly disguised anger and just a hint of resentment.

“Never,” she says shortly, certainly. “You never came close to Glinda.”

Fiyero sighs in frustration but not surprise. He had, after all, already suspected this. “I know. We’ve had this argument before. But you’ll be killed if you return to Oz.”

“I’m already living an empty life out here, what’s the difference?” Elphaba spits

“What if you can’t find her?” Fiyero asks harshly.

“Then I won’t stop searching until I die.”

“What if she’s happily married?”

“Then I’ll be her friend.”

“What if she hates you?”

“Then at least I’ll have seen her one more time.”

Fiyero starts to say something again, but then his button eyes glint and he sighs. “I can’t talk you out of this, can I?”

Elphaba finally softens. “No,” she murmurs.

Fiyero reaches for her broom and runs his stuffed hand over the handle. “Then let me come with you, at least.” Elphaba opens her mouth to protest but Fiyero shakes his head and hands her the broom. “For protection. We’ve spent the last couple decades protecting each other, and you know I can’t be killed or injured. Let me help you.”

Elphaba sighs and takes the broom. “Fine,” she says, barely waiting for Fiyero to climb on before they’re in the air, flying through the night, back to Oz. 

Back to Glinda.

 

* * *

 

When they reach Oz, Elphaba decides to start her search in the Emerald City. It’s conveniently in the middle of Oz, and depending on the sunlight it concealed her green skin as nothing more than a reflection off the buildings. They land on the outskirts of the city in the evening dusk, but inside its walls. Neither of them have any idea of what’s waiting for them in Oz; the country had isolated itself for over a decade after they first fled and even once its borders had reopened, few people in the outlying countries knew anything about Oz.

“We should stay concealed as long as we can,” Fiyero mumbles in Elphaba’s ear as they slide off the broom. “A green woman and a walking scarecrow aren’t exactly inconspicuous.”

Elphaba nods and readjusts her bag on her shoulder, about to march straight down the street and demand Glinda’s whereabouts from the first person she sees when Fiyero’s hand on her arm stops her.

“Let’s find somewhere to stay, just for tonight,” Fiyero urges. Elphaba is about to refuse when he places his other hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re desperate to find her, but we don’t even know where to start.”

Elphaba sighs in consent and they creep along the shadows of alleyways, looking for an inn that won’t ask too many questions. They’ve been on the run for so long that this part comes easily to them, the nervousness that Elphaba feels about possibly being in the same city as Glinda is new though.

They come across an inn that seems sketchy enough that the owner won’t ask his customers any questions. 

“I’ll go see if there’s any rooms,” Fiyero offers, already heading to the door. “A talking scarecrow might be unheard of, but a green witch isn’t new here.” 

Elphaba nods reluctantly and heads around the side of the building, finding a small stable. There’s a young boy, maybe thirteen, who’s murmuring quietly to a horse. She slips into the warm building, inhaling the scent of hay and horse and manure. It would smell like Munchkinland if Elphaba let herself remember that life, it seemed so long ago to her.

The boy notices her and jumps a little. The horse snorts at him and turns away from the stall door. “Can I help you, miss?” he asks, politely not staring too much at the green.

Elphaba is about to refuse when she shrugs, now is a good a time as any to start asking about Glinda. “Actually you can. I’m looking for someone you may have heard of.”

The boy brightens, obviously happy to be of assistance. “I might be able to help. Who are they?”

Elphaba frowns thoughtfully, wondering what Glinda’s been calling herself these days. “This was years ago, long before you were born, but she was once known as Glinda the Good.”

“Oh Lady Glinda?” he asks brightly. “Of course I know her. Everyone knows Lady Glinda.”

Elphaba grins, this will make her job much easier. “Where can I find her?”

The boy’s smile falters, drooping slightly and then falling all together. “Why, miss, you don’t know?” he asks quietly.

“Know what?” Elphaba snaps, her patience running thin, as it always did when Glinda’s safety was involved. 

“Miss, It’s just that— Well—”

The tone of the boy’s voice stops her from dismissing him and she freezes, something like dread growing in her stomach. “Well, spit it out,” she hisses harshly, ignoring the boy’s wince.

“Lady Glinda is dead.”

Everything in Elphaba’s body goes cold. “She’s what?” she manages to croak.

“Lady Glinda died last year,” the boy sounds nervous, wringing his hands desperately. “Next week is the anniversary of her death.”

Elphaba can’t move. Everything in her is frozen and the only thing she can think of is how the words _Glinda_ and _death_ are completely incompatible.

“Miss?” the boy asks.

_Glinda._

“Miss, are you alright?”

_Dead_.

“Miss?”

_Glinda’s dead._

“Miss, what’s wrong?”

Something snaps inside Elphaba and she straightens her spine, her face going blank.

“Miss?”

_He’s wrong._

Elphaba throws her hand out, throwing the poor boy back with her magic. “You’re lying,” she snarls. “Tell me the truth. Where is she?”

“I’m not!” the boy protests, his voice shaky with fear and the force of Elphaba’s magic pinning him to the wall. “Lady Glinda died last year after stopping the Wizard’s Militia from invading the palace.”

“No!” Elphaba shrieks. “You’re wrong.”

The boy is struggling to breathe now. “I was at the funeral procession that day. The Throne Minister said it himself. She passed away not long after the fight. Ask anyone!”

“Elphaba?”

Elphaba spins around and stares at Fiyero standing in the doorway, his face shocked as he stares at the boy pinned to the wall and the green witch holding him there with her magic. “Elphaba, what are you doing?”

“He’s lying,” Elphaba snarls at Fiyero. “He said Glinda’s dead but she’s _not._ She _can’t_ be.”

“Elphaba,” Fiyero says, taking a step towards her. “Stop this. You’re hurting him.”

“He’s lying, Fiyero!”

Fiyero reaches for her hand but Elphaba jerks herself away from him. “Even if he is lying this isn’t right,” Fiyero says, and there’s something like pity in his button eyes. Elphaba’s magic slackens and the boy quickly gasps in shaky breaths. “This isn’t the right way to do this. You know that.”

Elphaba’s own chest is heaving, trying to catch her breath for reasons that have nothing to do with being pinned to a wall. “He’s lying,” she whimpers. Her arm falls to her side and magic stops humming through her veins. The boy falls to the ground, coughing violently and Elphaba barely notices Fiyero rushing to his side, helping as best as he can with his straw hands.

“I’m sorry,” Fiyero is murmuring to the boy. “She’s— Well she was an old friend of Lady Glinda. She’s just grieving.”

_He’s wrong. She can’t be dead_.

“It’s okay, mister,” the boy says, his voice hoarse, “I understand. When I lost my mama I didn’t want believe it either.”

_He’s wrong!_

“Elphaba!” Fiyero calls as she rushes out the door, but she’s already on her broom and flying high into the sky. 

The wind whips her hair into her face. It’s nearing winter in Oz, and the air this high throws thin chips of ice into her face, but Elphaba welcomes the burn of thin air and the tiny cuts across her cheeks and hands. It’s something to focus on. 

_Why, miss, you didn’t know?_

Elphaba remembers when she was young, maybe six or seven, and had snuck downstairs to the big library back at Colwen Grounds when they were staying with their grandfather. She hadn’t been able to sleep that night and needed a new book to keep her occupied until the sun rose. She had made it all the way to the library and back to the stairs without being caught. 

_Lady Glinda is dead._

She had walked carefully up the stairs, skipping that creaky third step so she wouldn’t wake Nessa or Father down the hall. There were no windows in the stairwell, the only light came from the window at the end of the hallway, but the moon had been thin that night and barely stretched halfway across the long hallway, let alone to the stairs.

_Lady Glinda died last year._

Elphaba blamed the dark. She usually counted the steps on the stairwell, but she had lost track that night. She had thought there was one more step than there was, and as she brought her foot down there was a moment of dark surprise, brief as it was, where Elphaba realized there weren’t any more steps, but she had already committed to the action with no time to readjust herself.

_Next week’s the anniversary of her death._

Her foot had slammed into the stone floor hard enough to jolt her entire body. The book fell out of her grip as she fell and tumbled loudly down the stairs, ruined, she would find out in the morning. And then she was falling through the air, already knowing how much it would hurt when she hit the ground. Her elbow had been badly bruised and she scraped both her knees on the edge of the last step. She had sat there for what felt like hours, crying, but nobody had come, so she picked herself up and limped back to her room, curling under the covers and not sleeping for the rest of the night. Her Father didn’t even notice the scrapes that morning at the breakfast table.

_Lady Glinda is dead._

That’s how Elphaba feels now. Falling through the air in dark surprise and waiting for the pain as she hit the ground, shocked and powerless and, above all, so terribly alone.

 

* * *

 

The next day Elphaba’s come to terms with Glinda’s death, insofar that she can’t be dead. She must have faked her death like Elphaba had herself, and she was hiding out somewhere safe, Elphaba just had to find out where. Elphaba hadn’t gone looking for Fiyero that morning; they had basically been estranged for the past decade, even if they spent all their time together. This was just the physical culmination of an already mental and emotional separation.

Instead, Elphaba barely slept that night and went out into the streets as soon as the sun rose, asking about Lady Glinda. Most people were happy to speak of her, and Elphaba started to pick up bits and pieces of Glinda’s life after she left. 

_Lady Glinda was a strong and fair ruler. Lady Glinda is the reason Oz wasn’t torn apart. Lady Glinda is exactly what the Emerald City needed. Lady Glinda’s rule is greatly missed. Lady Glinda’s death was a blow to us all._

The picture Elphaba gets of Glinda is one she always knew Glinda could become, and it warms Elphaba’s heart that people loved Glinda so. Of course, every piece of information Elphaba finds just makes her desperate for more, and desperate to find Glinda.

Elphaba stumbles into a shelter later that day, when the sun is starting to disappear behind the city’s walls. There’s a mix of people in the shelter, Animals and children and Quadlings and Muchkins all mingling together. There’s even a Gillikinese couple hurdled in the corner, avoiding everyone’s eyes, cheeks flushed with shame. Elphaba wanders to the front and realizes she has no Ozian currency, just some coins from Ev and a paper note from Ix.

“What would you like?” a cheery man asks. His face is wrinkled and splotchy red, but his smile reveals straight teeth. He has a large belly and his long hair is streaked with grey, tied back from his face. 

“I don’t have any money,” Elphaba says even as her stomach grumbles. 

The man laughs. “Nonsense. You don’t need money around here.”

Elphaba blinks. “What?”

The man squints at her but his smile doesn’t leave his face, nor does he comment on the green skin. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Elphaba thinks quickly, trying to come up with a reasonable response. “I’m from Ev,” she says. 

“You don’t look Evian,” he says easily. “You look like a Munchkinlander to be quite honest.”

“I— Uh, I mean—”

“Are you interrogating the customers again?” a female voice calls from the kitchen behind the man. “I’ve told you I don’t know how many times to stop that.”

“Of course not, dear,” the man calls back with a wink at Elphaba. “You don’t need to tell me anything about yourself if you don’t want to.” Elphaba breathes a sigh of relief. Her stomach growls again. The man laughs and picks up a bowl, uncovering a pot on a warming burner and spooning soup into it. “We don’t charge for food or shelter here,” he explains as he gestures for Elphaba to follow him into the dining room. She does, grabbing a spoon and a napkin off the counter. “The only people we turn away ones who cause problems or,” the man’s face darkens, “the Wizard’s Militia.”

That was the second time she had heard that name. “Who are they?” she asks. The man places the bowl on the table and sinks into the seat across from it. Elphaba, having no other choice, sits as well.

“No good scum,” the man snarls, his smile slipping for the first time. “They go around the city terrorizing people and Animals alike.” Elphaba starts at that, remembering why Oz had turned against her in the first place. It seemed so long ago, and the passion had faded with age, but she still cared about the cause. She only just seemed to realize how much she saw Animals around the city, no longer banned from the store she had stopped in this morning or the carriage she had taken to the west end of the city. It was shocking how normal everyone thought Animals in the city were, but then again, she had been away from Oz for decades. Elphaba takes a sip of the soup, finding warm and creamy if not favourable, and starts listening to the man again.

“And they started causing a nuisance, oh, about twenty years ago. Though they were never really an issue until last year, that was when they actually tried to storm the palace and stage a coup. If it wasn’t for Lady Glinda we would be under their tyrannical rule now.”

Elphaba chokes on her soup and waves off the man’s concern. “Lady Glinda?” she asks.

“Yes,” the man answers, his bright smile returns and wipes the traces of darkness off his face, “she ruled Oz for about twenty years before abdicating. But she came back to help the Throne Minister deal with the Wizard’s Militia. Just in time too, I heard. She saved us again, in more ways than one.”

“Tell me about her,” Elphaba says, taking another sip of soup to cover her shaky voice.

“Lady Glinda?” Elphaba nods and the man grins. “She’s the reason we’ve got places like these set up around the city. Places where refugees or homeless people and Animals, or teenagers looking for a night away from home,” he adds with a wink, “can get a warm meal and a blanket for the night.”

Elphaba spends the rest of the afternoon and evening listening to stories about Glinda from the people in the shelter.

“Everyone thought they knew her,” an old woman tells Elphaba, her face more wrinkled than not but her eyes bright and youthful, “but no one really did, not really. Except us, I think. She let her guard down around us. We had no voice, but she was always interested in our lives, in our ideas, in our dreams. I think she liked it here. When she was making public appearances she wasn’t as animated. She was like a doll then, content maybe, but never happy. But when it was just her and us here she really came alive.”

“She truly seemed to care about us,” a teenager with pink streaks in her hair says, “She’d slip away from the palace even when she wasn’t scheduled for a public charity event and help us, cleaning up our clothes and homes and bringing food. She kept all the secrets you told her too, no matter what, and helped out when she could, and even when she shouldn’t haves. She was cool. I miss having her around.”

“She tried to help us,” an old Owl says, his feathers greying around his beak. “She lifted the bans and reinstated our rights, but the damage from the Wizard’s rule was already done. Even if we weren’t legally discriminated against anymore, most people still had prejudice for us Animals. But she was outspoken about our rights and never shied away from supporting us like some politicians did.”

“She had her hands full just trying keep the country together,” a Fox adds from the next table, “and we were grateful for what ever spare time she managed to give to us.”

“Sometimes she would just listen,” a young Quadling mother says, bouncing a giggling toddler on her knee, “Even if she couldn’t do anything to help us publicly, because the Wizard still had supporters hiding and the government was going through a whole new change. Her hands were tied in some ways. But she would just come here and sit with us and listen with no expectation. She was good to us, she treated us like people.”

“I remember meeting her after I lost my mother,” a Munchkin man in his late twenties says, “I couldn’t have been more than seven when she found me, dirty and spitting and angry, and she just brought me here. She cleaned me up and fed me and just listened. And though she couldn’t do much, she helped find my dad. It took months though. He’d been separated from my mom and I for almost a year, he disappeared during the Emerald City Riots, we thought he was dead. She would come down almost everyday just to talk to me and play with me. And then, one day, she found my dad and brought him with her. I couldn’t believe it. I collapsed into his arms, sobbing. By the time I turned to thank Lady Glinda she was gone. I never saw her in person again.”

Elphaba is overwhelmed by the end of the night. The cheery man who gave her the soup approaches her and offers her a blanket. Her mind is spinning with all the stories of Glinda, with all the things she’s missed. 

Elphaba refuses to miss anymore, more determined than ever to find her.

“You should visit the orphanage if you’re so interested in Lady Glinda,” the cheery man says before he turns away.

“The orphanage?” Elphaba asks.

“Saint Aelphaba’s Orphanage,” he explains. “It’s in the west quarter of the city. Lady Glinda visited there often.”


	2. the wicked's lives are lonely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta do some research for a project tonight so the final chapter (and epilogue) will be coming tomorrow!

The next day, Elphaba finds Saint Aelphaba’s Orphanage easily. There’s children of all ages running around the yard, some are laughing and chasing each other, some are sitting alone with a book, some are sulking around and complaining to each other. 

The kids stare at her as she walks up the pathway, but somehow Elphaba knows it’s not the green skin that they’re staring at; it’s the fact that she’s a potential adoptive parent.

“Keep waiting, kids,” Elphaba mutters under her breath, “You don’t want me as a mom.”

The front door is open and Elphaba enters quickly, closing the door behind her to stop the itching she feels at the children’s stares. She stands in the entry way for a moment, unwrapping her scarf from her mouth and letting it hang around her neck instead.

“Is that better?” someone asks from the next room. Elphaba pokes her head in the door and her chest tightens painfully for a moment. There’s an old woman wiping away the tears of a small child, about six years old. The little girl is tiny, even for her age, and her head is a mess of wild blonde curls that swing about her shoulders as she nods. “Well now run along,” the old woman prompts good-naturedly, nudging the girl to the door. The blonde girl bounces to the door and looks up at Elphaba with a smile. Elphaba scarcely stops herself from taking a step back. The little girl’s eyes are startlingly blue in her freckled face, and Elphaba can sense the faint hum of magic in the girl. She looks almost exactly like the woman Elphaba wishes so desperately to see that she’s completely struck dumb.

“You’re green,” the little girl says brightly.

Elphaba manages to unfreeze enough and give the girl a small smile. “And you can see.”

The little girl giggles before skipping away, but Elphaba barely notices this. Instead she sees another girl in her place laughing at the end of the exact same conversation, pulling the green girl along by the hand with a giggle; she turns the brightest blue eyes on Elphaba and grins. _Come on, you mean green thing, we’ve got a picnic to attend._

Elphaba shakes her head out of the memory, watching the little girl bounce up the stairs with a pang in her heart.

“Come in, come in,” the old woman says and Elphaba steps back into the present, entering the office. “What brings you to Aelphie’s?” she asks.

Elphaba chokes out a small cough. “Aelphie’s?”

The old woman laughs. “Sorry, old habit. There was a woman who used to come here nearly every week and she decided the place needed a nickname.” 

Elphaba knows it’s too much to hope that the woman who nicknamed the place Aelphie’s was the same woman who nicknamed her Elphie, but at the same time Elphaba _knows_ that the woman was one in the same.

“A bit perky,” Elphaba finally says when she realizes the old woman is waiting for a response.

The old woman laughs again. “That’s what she said when she came up with it too. But she thought this place needed a bit of perkiness.”

Elphaba nods politely and hopes the pain she feels is masked enough.

“What’s your name, dearie?” the old woman asks.

“It does not matter,” Elphaba responds quickly. 

The old woman chuckles and pushes some paper around on her desk before reaching for a pile of knitting. “Well if names don’t matter, what does?”

Elphaba hesitates for a second, before stepping further into the room. “I am a historian researching the change of power in Oz.”

The old woman’s eyes are shrewd when she looks at Elphaba. “We have many historians researching that despite the how recent it was. Why are you?”

Elphaba shuffles a little, glad she had prepared this story the night before. “I’m from Ev,” she lies with practiced ease. “We don’t know much about Oz outside of propaganda, and I was curious about the regime.”

“So why visit an orphanage in one of the poorest quarters of the city instead of the palace?” the woman asks. She doesn’t pause in her knitting, but Elphaba senses that her next answer is crucial to not being kicked out.

“I am particularly interested in Lady Glinda,” Elphaba says easily. “And after asking around I was directed to this orphanage. I was told Lady Glinda spent much time here.” That part, at least, was true.

The old woman brightens and gestures to the chair opposite her desk. Elphaba leans her broomstick against the wall and takes a seat. “I am always happy to speak of Lady Glinda,” the old woman says with a sad sort of smile. “She was a blessing to this place. The children loved her. Arduenna there, the little girl you just met, was devastated after Her Goodness died.” 

_Arduenna?_ Elphaba wonders what the chances are. Maybe Glinda did find someone after all and had a chi— Elphaba silently berates herself. Even if Glinda did have a child, it’s not exactly Elphaba’s place to judge Glinda for moving on, and besides that there’s no way she would have abandoned a child. “Arduenna?” Elphaba finally manages to ask. “That was the clan Gl— Lady Glinda’s mother’s was from.” Elphaba winces at her mistake, but the old woman doesn’t notice that slip up, instead she’s more wary of Elphaba’s knowledge of Glinda.

“How did you know that?” the old woman asks sharply.

“I— Well I am a historian,” Elphaba says, aiming for convincing. “I did lots of research before I came here.” Elphaba doubts that Glinda’s favourite ice cream flavour (strawberry) could be found through historical research, but knowing her family lineage is at least believable.

“Yes,” the old woman says nodding gravely, her voice low as if telling a secret. “One of the reasons Lady Glinda had such a soft spot for Arduenna is that she suspected they might be kin.”

“A child?” Elphaba asks despite herself. 

The old woman laughs gently. “Oh no, Lady Glinda assured me that was impossible. But she thought perhaps a daughter of one of her aunts, maybe a distant cousin, perhaps even a sibling. Arduenna has been here since she was a couple weeks old, and all we knew of her parents was a blanket with the Arguenna sigil in the corner, and since it’s such an old name we decided to let her keep it.”

Elphaba nods and remains silent while the old woman focuses on her knitting. “Well?” the old woman asks.

Elphaba blinks. “Huh?”

The old woman looks up from her knitting. The look in her eyes makes Elphaba anxious; it’s like the old woman is able to see right through Elphaba. “Aren’t you going to ask me questions about Her Goodness?”

“Oh,” Elphaba responds dumbly, “right. Um, what was Lady Glinda like?”

“She was kind and warm, but sad,” the old woman answers easily. 

“Sad?” Elphaba asks.

The old woman hums and nods, running her hand over the needles, counting the stitches she had just made under her breath before continuing. “Lady Glinda was so bubbly and happy all the time that few people saw the sadness underneath.” Elphaba’s breath catches. “She visited this orphanage quite often, trying to find homes for all the children whose families had been torn apart by the Riots.”

“Why?” Elphaba breathes, her voice hoarse. She clears her throat. “Why was she so sad?”

“Who can say?” the old woman answers. “She was well into her thirties by the time she started visiting here. And whatever happened was so deeply engraved into her it must have happened many years before.”

Elphaba swallows, a place right below her sternum aching fiercely. 

“I doubt she ever talked about why she was so sad with anyone,” the old woman continues. “Though I doubt many noticed her sadness either. It was as much a part of her as her goodness, but she hid it so well you would never know unless you looked deep enough.”

Elphaba is silent for a long moment before she realizes that she needs to keep asking questions to keep her cover intact. She clears her throat, ignoring the lump she has to swallow around. “What was her reign like?”

The old woman takes a second to consider her answer. “Uneasy but stable,” she decides. Elphaba tilts her head in questioning but the old woman continues without prompting. “Lady Glinda was a good ruler, strong and fair. The public knew her well before she took the throne, which made the transition easier. Especially after the terror of the Wicked Witches of the East and West and the uncertainty when the Wizard left with no warning.” Elphaba gulps a little but covers it with a soft cough. The old woman barely looks at her, eyes lost to the past. “Oz was a mess of political chaos after the Wizard left. Munchkinland was threatening succession, Gillikin wanted more economic control, civil war erupted in the Vinkus after that Arjiki prince disappeared when the tribes started blamed each other for killing him and started fighting, and the Quadling crisis reached its height with refugees flooding the city. The Emerald City was a mess itself, without the Wizard different factions started fighting for control. The Animal resistance came to light, the Wizard’s supporters suspected Lady Glinda of killing the Wizard herself and formed a militia, fervent Lurlinists thought she was the Sky Goddess herself, Unionists took issue with that and the two started fighting. Some even thought she might be Ozma herself come to save us. The city became its own political nightmare.”

Elphaba is struck dumb by all this information, realizing what a mess she had left to Glinda to deal with. _Alone_ , she remembers helpfully.

“Without Lady Glinda leading us I fear Oz would still be at war with itself,” the old woman admits. “It took over a decade before everything settled down and there was once again an uneasy peace across Oz. After making sure no more war would erupt, Lady Glinda finally focused on politics and the economy. She rebuilt the government from the ground up in collaboration with the other provincial leaders. There was no heir to the Eminent Thropp line so they elected someone, once the Vinkus settled they formed a council of princes to represent themselves, the Quadlings never fully became a political power so they sent some ambassadors, and the Gillikinese was the most stable through all this, so they remained relatively unchanged.”

“Lady Glinda did all that?” Elphaba asks, awed.

“Her Goodness was more than we deserved. She somehow rebuilt Oz back to its former power, all without the knowledge of the other countries if your shock is anything to go by,” the old woman says, smug but not unkind.

“That’s— Wow,” Elphaba manages.

“She was a strong ruler, and an even stronger person,” the old woman agrees, a fond, if sad, smile on her lips. “And among all that she still found time to come visit this old place almost every week, not to mention the other orphanages and shelters and charities she volunteered at.”

“Did she have anyone?” Elphaba manages to ask, and as much as the thought sends a pang through her chest, it hurts more to know that Glinda was alone in her pain.

“This is rather personal for a historical record,” the old woman says, and something like accusation gleams in her eyes.

Elphaba shrugs and thinks quickly. “I like to know what kind of person I’m researching, it makes them feel more human.”

The old woman nods her head in accession before she answers. “She was alone for all of her reign. Many people hoped she would marry so we would have an heir but she never did. She abdicated the throne to one of her younger ministers. She had trained him since he was a teenager for the position, but, well, he’s no Lady Glinda.”

“What happened after she abdicated?”

“Lady Glinda could have remained at the palace if she so chose, but instead she disguised herself and lived in the Emerald City Slums for while, helping where she could. Sometimes a store refusing Animal service would find itself with no business once Lady Glinda started boycotting the place, sometimes one would find medicine and food for their sick children with no note, sometimes a condemned house or store would be restored overnight as if by magic. She never accepted credit and refused knowledge of the acts if confronted, but everyone knew it was her.

“Eventually she left the Emerald City and travelled to Munchkinland, to Gillikin, to the Vinkus. Rumours say she spent time a couple years at a castle in the Vinkus. Um, Kiamo Ko, I think it was called. The castle had long since been abandoned by the family once their crown prince disappeared. Supposedly it’s the place the Wicked Witch of the West was melted, but that’s all heresy.”

Elphaba scratches the skin underneath her eye, catching the tears before they can fall.

“Eventually she returned to the Emerald City when unrest started up again. The new Throne Minister was still fairly young and couldn’t handle it by himself, so Her Goodness rejoined court life and helped stop the riots before they got out of hand. And the,” the old woman pauses, sighing deeply. “Well the only reason the uprising was stopped was because Lady Glinda used her magic to halt the Wizard’s Militia storming the palace and froze everyone in place until they were arrested.” 

The old woman clears her throat, her eyes looking somewhere into the past. “It was an amazing display of magic,” she whispered. “I’m not sure anyone has ever seen such power, but it came at a cost. Lady Glinda used up all of her energy that day, and almost all of her life force, to hold the Wizard’s Militia in place.”

Elphaba feels fear gnawing at her stomach, but she can’t look away from the old woman, dreading the words she knows are coming.

“After that, it was barely a week before news came that Lady Glinda had passed away.” The old woman takes out a handkerchief and wipes her wet eyes with it.

“From the magic?” Elphaba croaks, hoping the old woman doesn’t notice the roughness of her voice or the tears in her own eyes.

“Yes, dearie,” the old woman murmurs with a sigh, “I’m surprised she managed to survive even a couple days after that, let alone a little longer than a week. Her Goodness was strong. Stronger than most people realized, and much stronger than she ever gave herself credit for.”

Elphaba fights for her composure, her chest aching all the more fiercely as she realizes exactly how much Glinda had accomplished, just how strong her best friend was, just how desperately Elphaba misses her. When she thinks that her voice is under control, Elphaba remembers she has to keep her cover. “And what of Oz?” she asks. Her voice is only a little shaky, so Elphaba counts that as a success.

The old woman blinks as if coming back into herself. “Well, since she had abdicated a couple years before, there was no change in the government after her death,” the old woman explains. “The Throne Minister continues to rule. And he means well, but he’s not as strong a ruler as Lady Glinda was. There’s whispers of another uprising, and had Lady Glinda still been our ruler those whispers would have been stopped weeks ago. I doubt the Throne Minister even knows of them.”

“And how did Oz react to her death?” Elphaba’s voice only cracks a little bit over the last word, but the old woman doesn’t seem to notice.

“The Emerald City mourned for a couple days, I’m sure all of Oz did, for a short while. But life goes on. Lady Glinda was left to the dusts of history, and us poor folk were left with the only true memory of Her Goodness.”

“What do you mean?”

“The only people who knew Lady Glinda as Glinda are just us people without a voice,” the old woman explains with a small, sad smile. “The poor and the Animals, we knew who she really was, and I suppose we’re the only ones who really mourn her death.”

_I do,_ thinks Elphaba, _I mourn her_. But Elphaba shakes her head and curls her hands into fists, digging her nails into the palms of her hands hard enough to leave marks. _Glinda isn’t dead_ , Elphaba reminds herself, _she can’t be._

Elphaba clears her throat and stands. “Thank you,” she says, and that’s not a lie, “this information is more valuable to me than you could ever know.”

But the old woman just smiles. “I’m glad someone wants listen to an old woman’s memories,” she says.

Elphaba nods and moves to leave. She’s picked up her broom and is almost out the door when the old woman’s soft voice stops her. 

“No one mourns the wicked.”

Elphaba feels an icy shiver rush up her spine, _sure_ she’s been found out. Even with how careful she’s been, she knew someone would eventually remember the green skin, even if it’s been nearly thirty years. But when Elphaba turns to confront the old woman Elphaba realizes thatshe isn’t talking to her, she’s staring with unfocused eyes past Elphaba’s shoulder and out the door. “That’s what she used to say, ‘No one mourns the wicked.’ But the way she would say it,” the old woman sighs quietly. “You’re not from here so I imagine you haven’t heard too much of the Wicked Witch of the West, but Oz celebrated her death. ‘No one mourns the wicked,’ they cheered that day.” 

The old woman shakes her head sadly. “Lady Glinda would murmur it sometimes, when the sadness in her eyes was too much. She would say, ‘No one mourns the wicked.’ Once I asked her about it, but she just smiled at me sadly. ‘Goodness knows,’ she had said, ‘the Wicked’s lives are lonely; the Wicked die alone. It just shows when you’re Wicked, you’re left only on your own.’ When the Wicked Witch of the West died the citizens of Oz chanted that saying in celebration, but from Lady Glinda it was only ever said in heartbreak.”

The old woman sighs again, her voice sadder than it had been all evening. “I used to think she meant herself, that Her Goodness was condemning the Wicked, but now,” she pauses, collecting herself, “But now I don’t think that’s true. I wondered for a long time what she meant, when she said that. I think I always knew, but I couldn’t believe that she would think that. I never understood how she could.”

There are tears streaming down Elphaba’s cheeks but she barely notices them. She clutches her broom desperately and ducks her head so the old woman doesn’t see how wet her face is. “Who was she talking about?” she rasps.

The old woman looks at her in surprise, as if she had forgotten that Elphaba was even there. “Why herself, of course. She thought it was her who was wicked.”

The ache comes stronger in Elphaba’s chest, and she thinks that she might cease to exist altogether.

“ ‘No one mourns the Wicked’ she would say. She was talking about herself.”

 

* * *

 

The next day Elphaba visits the palace, just not legally.

She sneaks into the grounds, over the garden wall like Glinda and her used to do at Shiz, slipping between trees when the guards look the other way, occasionally magicking a small tumble of rocks or a branch snapping far away so they investigate the sound and she can slip past. 

There’s an open window, sheer green curtains blowing lightly in the cool autumn breeze. and Elphaba slinks over the ledge. The room is empty, and not just of people. There’s a desk sitting in front of the window she had just entered, dust collecting on it. The chair is slightly askew, as if whoever had last sat there had left in a hurry. Papers are stacked neatly over the desk, but the papers spread across the working area are messy, covering each other in no discernible pattern. An ink jar sits, open and dried, holding down the corner of a thick parchment, the feather dropped haphazardly across the paper. Something about the desk tickles Elphaba’s memory, but she can’t place it. She moves around the room. Bookshelves are pushed up against one side, and scanning the titles she sees that while most of them are on politics and economic theory and the history of Oz, many of them are on advanced sorcery. There’s a couple on life sciences and Elphaba runs her finger over the dusty tomes, recognizing some of them as the same volumes Shiz used what feels like an eon ago.

The fireplace is dark and cold, as if the fire had burned out long ago and was never cleaned. Wood remains stacked to the side, crumbling and rotting against each other. The fire poker is propped against the armchair turned towards the fire place, the maroon fabric worn, as if someone had spent hours sitting in it, staring into the fire. The small table beside the armchair has an empty cup, the ring of tea in the bottom long since dried up and caked, ruining the cup. A book on the intersection of sorcery and science is bookmarked about three quarters of the way through, and Elphaba has the strangest feeling that the book will never be finished. Two sheets are pinned to the wall behind the chair, between the fireplace and the door, covering portraits probably.

The other side of the room has more bookshelves, but these ones are filled with small knickknacks, like figurines and keepsakes, gifts from places all over Oz, Elphaba realizes. A small green bottle catches her eye and she blinks in shock. “No,” she breathes. She recognizes the peeling label, the small chip in the neck, the hazy green glass. It’s her mother’s bottle and Elphaba’s knees go weak. She looks around the room with a whole new perspective; the messy spread of papers over an otherwise neat desk, the ink jar used to hold down paper and was always in danger of spilling, the sorcery books amid the life sciences books, the teacup left out and forgotten about until it was too late, the book on sorcery and science as evening reading.

Elphaba gasps and staggers to the sheets pinned to the wall, tearing them down. The sheets flutter to the floor, rippling in the breeze from the open window, and reveal two portraits. The one on the left is Glinda how Elphaba remembers her. Young, bright, and beautiful. She’s smiling, a dimple at the corner of her mouth, with her blonde hair curled in soft ringlets handing around her shoulders. Her makeup is pretty but subtle, barely obscuring the freckles Elphaba knows she hated so much but that Elphaba had always thought were cute. A small tiara sits upon her head, glittering softly. 

It’s her eyes that catch Elphaba’s attention. Glinda’s smiling prettily for the portrait, but her eyes are sad. As bright and striking as ever, but a little subdued, a little softer. They’re missing that mischievous twinkle Elphaba fell in love with, that little gleam when she turned bright blue eyes on her roommate and dragged her out of the dorm and over the garden wall. It hurts to look at her, at this Glinda frozen in time, and so Elphaba turns her eyes to the other portrait.

It’s another portrait of Glinda, maybe made a few years ago. Glinda’s changed, Elphaba realizes and her entire body aches. She’s older here, more regal, more serious, but still as beautiful as ever. There’s no tiara anymore, and instead of an extravagant gown like the first portrait, she wears a simple dress, the colours darker, more muted. Elphaba forces her eyes higher to see Glinda’s face. Her freckles have mostly faded, but they remain stubbornly sprinkled across her nose. Her makeup is lighter, barely there, the bags under her eyes barely concealed by the swipe of a makeup brush. Her hair is more grey than blonde, pulled back in a simple bun at the nape of her neck. Wrinkles have gathered at the corners of her eyes and around the bridge of her nose, around her chin they pull at the end of her smile. Her smile is softer than the other portrait, sadder, Elphaba thinks; her cheek that always creased with that adorable dimple every time Glinda smiled remains smooth and untouched. Elphaba meets the flat eyes of the portrait and her breath escapes her.

Glinda’s eyes remain the same, remarkably blue and bright, but a little bit sad. They seem to gleam at Elphaba in the dim room, catching Elphaba and sending her back into the daze she used to fall into when Glinda smiled at her. They seem to hold Glinda’s magic in the flat canvas, somehow alive and boring into Elphaba’s heart; they hold her soul.

The room is exactly how Glinda would have left it; it’s remained untouched since the day she died.

Elphaba’s legs do give out then, and she sags to the floor. “No,” she breathes again, tears rising unbidden to her eyes. “No,” she repeats louder, curling in on herself. She can see Glinda, sitting at the desk and signing papers when she gets the call that the palace is about to be invaded. She can see her dropping her feather and shoving the chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the floor before stopping where the chair would rest for the next year. She can see Glinda hurrying out the door, holding her skirts away from her feet and rushing out the door to go save Oz one last time. She can see all this as clearly as if she was there with Glinda.

“No,” Elphaba snarls, forcing the images from her mind. _Glinda isn’t dead_ , she reminds herself. She stumbles to her feet and moves to the interior door, more determined to get answers than she was when she arrived. 

She casts one last look at Glinda’s portrait, and those blue eyes catch hers again. “This isn’t goodbye,” Elphaba promises the portrait, though it feels more like she’s convincing herself of this. “It’s not. I _will_ find you.”

The clouds shift outside and a beam of sunlight streams through the window, casting a thin sliver of light against the portrait. It must be a trick of the light, or the movement of the sheer curtains, because Glinda’s eyes gleam once more and then seem to fade.

“I promise,” Elphaba whispers.

The door groans open as Elphaba leans her weight against it, complaining at being forced to move after being shut so long. There are no guards in the hallway, though Elphaba supposes that with Glinda no longer using the office it doesn’t matter; though knowing the palace she has some doubts as to whether the hallway was protected even when Glinda used the office. She can only hope that security was better when Glinda ruled, and as she trips a magic alarm she realizes it had been.

Guards come pouring into the hallway, but Elphaba has already pulled shadows around herself and pressed herself into a corner. 

“What tripped the alarm?”

“There’s no one here.”

“They must have hidden themselves somewhere, find them.”

“Maybe Lady Glinda’s magic barrier is finally weakening.”

“She made it to last forever, who ever set it off must be close.”

The guards are starting to spread out, yelling orders and searching the rooms off the hallway. Elphaba is just about ready to fling them all into the wall and flee when a cat meows from the far end of the hallway. The guards all turn to the cat with rifles raised; the cat continues to sit there, licking a paw and running it over its ears. It would be comical, all the guards freaking out over such a tiny creature, if Elphaba’s heart wasn’t pounding so loud in her ears.

“It’s just a cat,” a young guard mutters, lowering his rifle.

His seniors grumble at him. “It could be a spy.”

“It’s just a cat,” the young guard complains, “not even a Cat. It’s a cat.”

The other guards reluctantly follow suite, lowering their rifles when the cat lets out a yawn and curls up to sleep. Elphaba waits for a couple minutes after the guards finally disperse, making sure no one doubles back and waiting until her heart has resumed its normal beat, before continuing to creep down the hallway.

The cat opens its eyes as she approaches, sitting up and resuming its grooming, and she’s about to slip past it when something stops her.

“Thanks,” Elphaba mutters to the cat. The cat pauses in cleaning its paws and looks up at Elphaba with intelligent, gleaming eyes. Elphaba blinks at the Cat, realizing the true trick of it all.

“I know why you’re here,” the Cat says with a yawn. “And I know who you are. Find the answers you need and leave the palace. The guards may be dumb but they won’t fall for the same trick twice.”

“Once bitten, twice shy,” Elphaba murmurs.

The Cat seems to grin up at Elphaba as one eye quickly shuts in what might be a wink. “How did you get in?” the Cat asks. “Lady Glinda’s barrier protects all doorway entrances and you only tripped it once you opened her office door.”

Elphaba frowns at the Cat. “The window was open,” she answers, pointing to Glinda’s office.

The Cat frowns. “What are you talking about? Lady Glinda’s office hasn’t been touched since she died.”

“The window was wide open so I just slipped in,” Elphaba explains, frowning.

The Cat stands, arching its back and stretching its paws. “That’s impossible.”

Elphaba shrugs. “Tell that to the window.”

The Cat walks to the office door and nods at the handle. Elphaba rolls her eyes and pushes the door open. “See,” she says triumphantly as she steps back into the office, “the window is wide—” Elphaba’s voice dies as the Cat pushes past her. The window is shut tightly, the green curtains pulled closed in front of it. 

The Cat looks at Elphaba in confusion. “I told you, this place hasn’t been touched in a year.”

Elphaba shakes her head wordlessly, and turns to the portraits. The sheet remains crumpled on the floor, but whatever had seemed to animate Glinda’s eyes before is gone and continues to smile a little sadly at the world, her eyes blankly looking straight ahead.

The Cat nudges against Elphaba’s ankle and leads Elphaba numbly back out the door. “I don’t know what you just experienced,” the Cat starts, and then points its nose down the hall to a small stairwell hidden behind a small wall, “but try the servants room. You’ll find what you seek there.”

“Thank you,” Elphaba murmurs again, still trying to process what happened in Glinda’s office.

“Lady Glinda told me of you,” the Cat says, and Elphaba unfreezes to glance down at the Cat, heart resuming its rapid pound against her sternum. “She said you’re the reason she got involved in Animal rights.” Elphaba swallows, and turns back to the Cat. It’s standing on light paws, dark eyes regarding Elphaba critically. “We thank you, for inspiring Her Goodness,” the Cat finally says, and then it leaves, tail held high and claws gently clicking against the stone floor.

Elphaba stays frozen in her spot for a moment before shaking it off and continuing down the hall, pushing her thoughts out of her mind to process later. She stays close to the wall, sticking to the shadows when she can, but no one else comes down the hall. She reaches the servants stairwell and follows it down to the basement. The stairs are narrow and rickety, but sturdy enough, and only creak and groan a little as Elphaba descends.

The bottom of the stairs opens into a narrow hallway, lit bit torchlight and casting long shadows towards Elphaba, thin fingers of darkness struggling to reach her in the flickering light. She moves down the hallway silently, listening for any noises that might signify an ambush. It’s not that she doesn’t trust the Cat, it’s just that she’s been betrayed so often it doesn’t hurt to be cautious. Once bitten, twice shy, after all.

The sound of muffled conversation and laughter echoes down the hall at her, and when she finally reaches the heavy wooden door it’s propped open with a large barrel. Elphaba sinks into her scarf, tipping her head slightly to cast her face in shadow, and tucking her hands into the dark fabric of her skirts, trying to put of the discovery of her green skin as long as possible.

People pay her little mind as she enters until a young woman looks up and catches sight of the green skin. A murmur goes through the crowd and Elphaba quickly finds herself on the receiving end of too many suspicious looks. The room stills and Elphaba enters into a staring contest with the palace staff, desperately remembering that she is doing this for Glinda.

“We keep to our own business,” an older man finally says, his butler uniform has been cared for and carefully arranged to hid the holes, “so long as you don’t give us reason to make it our own.” He turns back to his lunch and, with only some murmurs and glances, the other palace staff turn back to what they were doing before Elphaba stumbled in the room. 

Elphaba takes a deep breath and moves from table to table, asking about Lady Glinda over and over. She gets much the same answers as she has before; _Lady Glinda was a strong ruler, Lady Glinda was kind to us, Lady Glinda kept Oz together._ None of this information is new to Elphaba, but she gets the sense that these people are protecting Glinda. Their eyes gleam with more knowledge than they say, faces carefully guarded against the green-skinned stranger. Elphaba’s grateful that Glinda was so well liked, but it is getting frustrating to continuously run into walls. Everyone starts to tuck their food and cards away, pulling on jackets and re-buttoning shirts. Most of the servants have left when Elphaba sinks into a chair, rubbing her hands over her face in frustration.

“I knew Lady Glinda well,” someone murmurs. Elphaba looks up to a woman, younger than Elphaba but not a young woman. She’s hesitating between the door and the table, before her face clears and she sinks into the chair across from Elphaba.

Elphaba sits up straighter, leaning closer to the woman in poorly concealed desperation. “Tell me about her,” she pleads.

“I was fourteen when Lady Glinda took over the palace,” the woman starts, “just starting my training. My mentor was appointed to Her Goodness as the head servant in Lady Glinda’s quarters, a huge honour. And as her apprentice, I also became one of the serving girls. At the time Lady Glinda seemed so much older and mature than I was, but she was only a young woman at the time. She celebrated her twenty-second year a couple months into her reign.”

Elphaba nods. She remembered that night, she had spent a restless night beside Fiyero’s straw body, before huffing in frustration and storming out of the little groove they had camped in, ignoring Fiyero’s calls for her to stop. That day every year was one that Fiyero soon learned not to bother Elphaba over.

“Eventually we grew fairly close,” the woman continues, and Elphaba ignores the small seed of jealousy in her stomach. “I was the only person close to her age, and she was the only government person who actually treated me like I was human. But there was always a distance between us, she never let me get too close and I never got too comfortable, her being Oz’s ruler and me being, well, a servant.” The woman’s eyes are glassy, looking into the past. “She would dress me up in her fanciest clothing and jewellery and let me spend time in her room when work got too much. She was too kind to me, especially since I was only a servant.”

“She sounds kind,” Elphaba says, even though she already knows that.

“She was,” the woman says with a small smile. It fades quickly from her face. “But—” the woman breaks off.

“What?” Elphaba all but demands, desperate to know everything she can about Glinda’s life the past three decades.

The woman glances away. “She never slept well.”

“She what?”

“Well, she barely slept through the night in all the years I knew her. And when she did sleep—” the woman breaks off again.

“What?”

“She had nightmares,” the woman confesses, looking around to make sure no one would overhear, even though the room had long since emptied. Elphaba’s stomach twists. “Sometimes when I left her quarters for the night I would just stand there to make sure no one passed by and heard. They would have eaten her alive if they found any weaknesses in Her Goodness.”

“Why?”

The woman looks around again. “Most people adored Lady Glinda, but there were some, especially here in the palace, who would rather have liked her to come down with a sudden attack of the spleen. Most of them were the Wizard’s most loyal supporters, and a lot of them ended up founding the Wizard’s Militia. But honestly that just got them out of the palace and out of Lady Glinda’s way.”

“She sounds strong,” Elphaba says, remembering what the old woman had told her yesterday.

“She was. Especially considering she did it all on her own. Every time I offered to help her, even just lock the other servants out and give her some peace, she always refused. Not to be rude, I think, but to keep me emotionally away from her.”

“Why the distance?” Elphaba finally asks.

“For my own safety, I think.” At Elphaba’s questioning look she continues. “Her opposers would have used me to get to her, especially since I was barely more than a child at the time. But also I think because she was hurt.”

Elphaba swallows. “Hurt?” she rasps.

The woman nods. “One night Lady Glinda finally confessed that she had lost her best friend but could not grieve her in public. Plus with everything that followed the Wizard’s leave and the Wicked Witch of the West’s death she had enough on her hands. She struggled under the weight of the world all alone, especially in those early years, and the only time she could grieve was when she was finally alone in her chambers at night.”

“Oh,” Elphaba manages to say in what is a relatively normal voice, but her heart pounds and she searches for the quickest escape route.

“You’re her, aren’t you?” the woman asks quietly, but there’s no accusation in her voice.

“I am no one,” Elphaba replies, her skin crawling.

“The Wicked Witch of the West. That’s you, isn’t it.”

Elphaba sputters an answer and starts to stand, preparing to flee the room, but the woman holds out a placating hand.

“Your response is answer enough. But it’s okay,” the woman soothes, “I know.”

“You— You know? Know what?”

“I know you were also Lady Glinda’s best friend.”

“I— What?”

“Her best friend was green and a witch,” the woman says, ticking off her fingers, “the Wicked _Witch_ of the West was green, you’re green and, presumably got past the guards with a little magic. It doesn’t take a university degree to figure that out.”

“What are you going to do?” Elphaba asks in resignation. She’s settled herself back onto the chair but is as tense as a bowstring about to be released. 

“Do?” asks the woman in surprise. “Nothing of course.”

“Nothing,” Elphaba repeats blankly.

The woman smiles kindly at Elphaba. “Well, for one, if you were Lady Glinda’s best friend you can’t be all wicked,” she explains, tone light. “And like I said, Lady Glinda told me all about you, she told me the real story but swore me to secrecy. Though all things considered, I don’t think she would have minded me sharing it with you.”

“She told you?” Elphaba croaks. She clears her throat. “About me?”

The woman hums in assent. “When she was alive she made me make a vow, sealed with magic, to ensure that I could not speak of it, but after her death the magic weakened and wore off.”

_After her death, the magic weakened_. Elphaba thinks of the barrier around the palace, of how strong that magic was. To Elphaba, it was another sign that Glinda was alive. If magic weakened with death, the barrier around the palace should be almost gone by now, but it was probably as strong as it had ever been considering the guards’ response to it. The weakening of the magic vow could be easily explained: Glinda had allowed that magic to ease up, allowing the servant to speak freely to whoever might find her. By this point Elphaba is positive, Glinda is alive and just waiting for Elphaba to find her. 

Elphaba stands quickly. “May I see her grave?” she asks. That was another piece of evidence Elphaba fit into her certainty that Glinda was alive. Out of everyone she’s talked to, no one had actually seen her die, nor had they seen a body, nor do they know where the grave is. 

Elphaba is absolutely _positive_ that Glinda isn’t dead, she can’t be. Not Glinda.

The woman shakes her head. “I would show you but I’m unsure where she was buried.”

“Surely she is buried in the palace cemetery?” Elphaba asks, confused and more than a little frustrated. 

The woman sighs. “From the rumours I’ve heard, Her Goodness wished to be buried in a separate cemetery, a common one, apparently.”

“So you don’t know where her grave is?”

“No,” the woman says sadly. “I wish I did so I could bring her flowers. But I haven’t heard anything.”

“So it’s a secret,” Elphaba realizes.

“Well, no,” the woman amends, “Not so much a secret as not publicized. The Throne Minister wished to allow Glinda privacy in death and never announced the spot. I’m sure some people know, but they keep the grave’s location a well guarded mystery. You’re best to ask some of the people she was closest with. The people at the shelters or some of the charities, perhaps.”

“Or the orphanage,” Elphaba murmurs.

“That would probably be your best chance,” the woman agrees.

“Thank you,” Elphaba says and turns to go. She’s almost out the door when the woman calls her back.

“Would you— I mean if you find the grave—” she stutters.

Elphaba is already shaking her head, ready to deny this woman her request, selfishly wanting to keep the spot private if she does find it. Even though she doubts she will. Everything she finds just proves to Elphaba that Glinda is alive. No one’s seen her body, the supposed grave is kept a secret from the public and even those closest to her, her magic barrier hasn’t weakened, and it’s _Glinda._ She simply can’t be dead.

“I just,” the woman takes a deep breath. “I don’t need you to tell me where it is. Just promise me one thing.”

Elphaba looks back at the woman, not answering but not refusing her. 

“Bring her some flowers, from me.”

Elphaba blinks back sudden tears. “I promise,” she says, and then she’s gone.


	3. you're left only on your own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue will be up in the next hour!

The city is preparing for the anniversary of Glinda’s death. Elphaba assumes it must be in the next couple of days with the pace that the Emerald City is trying to set up all the different vigils. There’s a big one at the palace that will be led by the Throne Minister, but it’s restricted to the public, who can only view it at the end of the driveway behind a gate; it makes Elphaba sick. But she finds out about other, smaller, vigils that are being held around the city. There’s at least a couple in every quarter of the city, public and private ones, there’s even one at the shelter Elphaba had ate at that first afternoon. But the one at Saint Aelphaba’s Orphanage is the only vigil Elphaba is interested in. 

“Elphaba!” 

Elphaba stills for a brief second before slipping into an alley. There’s only one person in the city who knows that name; to the citizens of Oz she was always just the Wicked Witch of the West, never Elphaba, that would have made her human.

“Elphaba!” Fiyero calls again, and Elphaba moves quickly down the alley and emerges onto the next street. The market is bustling and Elphaba quickly moves through the crowd, weaving between bodies and glad of the unusually bright sun that autumn afternoon. The light casts green shadows across the street and obscures her skin as a trick of the light. She can still hear Fiyero calling for her, but his voice is soon lost in the moving market. It heaves and breathes as if it is a living being, pushing people out of their paths and onto a new collision courses. Colours flash as children dart through the thin openings of space as people move. Vendors yell their wares across the street and people and Animals alike barter back in increasingly frustrated voices. Elphaba weaves through the crowd until she reaches the street that will take her to the orphanage, but instead of taking it she walks two streets up and over, taking a roundabout way through side streets and alleys just in case Fiyero caught sight of her leaving the market. She had managed to avoid him in the city so far and wasn’t about to give up yet.

The orphanage is as busy as it was the first time she was there a couple days ago. Children chase each other, a teenager bounces a toddler on her knee, a couple of kids sulk in the shade, and Elphaba can even see the old woman sitting at her office desk through the front window. Some of the teenagers notice her approach, but don’t stare like last time, probably realizing that she is not here because she’s looking to adopt.

The younger children have no such realization and approach her this time, trying earnestly to be the charming brats she knows they’re not.

“You have a funny hat.”

“Why do you have a broom? Are you a maid?”

“Where are you from?”

“Where are you going?”

“Why are you green?”

Elphaba ignores most of them, but turns a sharp eye to the kid who asked the last question. She’s a young Munchkinlander with long dark hair, her skin considerably darker than most Munchkinlanders. A pair of glasses perch on her nose and partially obscure green, intelligent eyes. She’s clutching a book to her face and staring up at Elphaba with no fear or disgust. Elphaba allows a small smirk to spread across her face and leans down close to the girl. The other kids scuttle away, laughing and shrieking, but the girl just continues to stare at Elphaba.

“Because I ate too many vegetables when I was your age,” Elphaba says with a mischievous grin.

The other kids shriek in laughter and fear of vegetables but the girl just frowns thoughtfully up at her. As Elphaba draws back she catches sight of Arduenna, the blonde girl from yesterday who reminds her so much of Glinda that Elphaba has to take a moment to remind herself to breathe. Arduenna runs up to the Munchkinlander girl and swats gently at her shoulder. “Fae, that’s not polite!” Arduenna scolds, forgetting she said much the same thing yesterday.

The girl, Fae, scrunches her nose up. “So?”

Arduenna rolls bright blue eyes and takes Fae’s hand. “Come on,” she says and tugs Fae away. “Bye, miss!” she calls with a wave, and then the two girls are gone with a swirl of gold and black hair.

Elphaba stands stunned for a moment, before she blinks and continues up the steps of the orphanage. The door swings open and she turns to the front office, knocking gently on the door. The old woman looks up from her papers and smiles when she sees the green woman from the other day.

“You’re back!” the old woman says, though she doesn’t sound surprised. “Come in, come in,” she urges.

Elphaba does, smiling awkwardly and scuffing the toe of her boot on the wooden floor. “I had some more questions.” 

The old woman smiles warmly, but there’s something about the glint in her eyes that says she knows more than she lets on. “Well I have to start preparing for tomorrow. Do you mind joining me in the kitchen?” Elphaba hesitates. “An extra set of hands might get some extra information,” the old woman bribes. Elphaba shuffles for a moment before nodding her assent. The old woman stands up, with surprising spryness considering her age, and claps her hands together. “Excellent. Leave your broom here and follow me.”

Elphaba hesitates again, but reluctantly props her broom against wall and follows the old woman deeper into the orphanage. The building isn’t large, and the kitchen is just down the hallway from the office, so at least Elphaba knows she can easily summon her broom if needed, or just run to it.

“We’re setting up for the vigil,” the old woman explains brightly, though her eyes are sad, “We’re planning to have a big dinner for the kids in Lady Glinda’s honour, since she was so fond of them. And they of her, of course.”

Elphaba follows her into the kitchen. There’s a woman in her thirties just leaving the kitchen with a basket of dirty laundry. She eyes Elphaba ins shock but nods at them as she leaves. Elphaba ducks her head and scratches at an old scar on her hand, wondering how much magic she will need to blast through the wall when she inevitably needs to escape.

“I hope you don’t mind potato peeling,” the old woman interrupts Elphaba’s thoughts, “because that’s what I need the extra set of hands for.” Elphaba shakes her head and takes the knife offered to her, following the woman to the back of the kitchen where a couple buckets are laid out on an old sheet. The old woman sits down on a crate with a groan, gesturing for Elphaba to do the same. Elphaba does and follows the old woman’s lead, picking up a potato from one bucket where it’s submerged in cold water, quickly starting to peel it.

They work in silence for a while, until the old woman glances up at Elphaba. “So?” she says, the single word an invitation.

“I’m trying to locate her grave,” Elphaba says. After all, the best lie is the truth.

Everything about the old woman closes off, but her face remains pleasantly open. “Well you are going to have to look hard for it. Even I don’t know where it is.”

Elphaba knows she’s lying, but she doesn’t say anything. It’s easier to catch someone in a lie than to accuse them of it. They peel in awkward silence.

“Do you know where Lady Glinda went to school?” Elphaba tries instead. 

The old woman relaxes. “Shiz University, I believe. She became an adept sorceress there. Top of her class, though she told me later that she was the only one in the class, so she was also the bottom of her class,” the old woman says with a laugh. 

Elphaba manages a smile that’s no more than her pressing two thin lips together. “There were no other sorceresses at Shiz?” Elphaba asks, and briefly wondering why she likes causing herself pain.

“Not when she graduated. Though Lady Glinda did say her best friend was in the class for most of their first year until she dropped out.” Elphaba presses her tighter together and her sharp teeth tear at the inside of her mouth. The taste of blood is a welcome distraction.

“Her best friend?” Elphaba asks, hating herself more and more.

The old woman hums. “Lady Glinda only spoke of her best friend a few times.” Elphaba peels the potato in her hand a bit more aggressively than strictly necessary as the old woman continues. “Lady Glinda told me that after her friend dropped out she only saw her a couple times after.”

“Oh?” Elphaba says mildly. If she continues to give short answers there’s less of a chance that the old woman will notice how shaky her voice is.

“Lady Glinda didn’t often speak of her life before she came to rule Oz. But when she did it was always with that sadness. And when she spoke of her best friend,” the old woman pauses, shaking her head and adding a peeled potato into growing pile in one of the buckets, “I’ve never seen her so forlorn before.”

“Sounds like she missed her,” Elphaba manages to choke out.

“More than anything,” the old woman agrees, and then turns unexpectedly sharp eyes on Elphaba. “You knew Lady Glinda, didn’t you,” she asks without warning, except it’s not a question, not really.

“No,” Elphaba lies, except it’s not convincing, not really.

The old woman doesn’t stop her peeling, but an edge of seriousness hangs heavily over the turn in their conversation.

“It was you, wasn’t it,” the old woman asks again, except it’s not a question, not really.

“No,” Elphaba says again, except it's not convincing, not really.

They both know she’s lying.

The old woman studies Elphaba intently. “She loved you, you know,” she finally says. “She loved you more than anything.”

Elphaba drops her potato and ducks her head. “I know,” she croaks.

“She told me her best friend died.”

“I know,” Elphaba repeats, her voice bordering on pleading.

“Why’d you leave her?”

“I thought—” Elphaba breaks off, swatting at a couple stubborn tears, barely missing slashing her forehead open with the knife still in her hand. It might have been better if she had. “I thought I would be safer if I left, that _she_ would be safer

“And were you?” the old woman asks softly.

“Yes. Or no. Or— I don’t know.” Elphaba drops the knife and runs her hands over her face. “I don’t know. I- I thought she would be safer without me.” Elphaba pauses and thinks about the other reason she left, admitting it out loud now feels too soon, but at the same time it feels too late. “I thought she would be happier without me.”

“But she wasn’t,” the old woman says.

“But she wasn’t,” Elphaba agrees. “I never thought Oz could change, not really, not after everything I’d seen. And when she told me she’d help me all I could see was Oz turning against her. But now,” Elphaba trails off, thinking of all Glinda had done over the past three decades, all the changes she had spearheaded in Oz; of all she had done for Oz and of all Oz hadn’t given her in return. “But now—” she tries again, but the words won’t come, caught somewhere in her throat and choking her.

“You shouldn’t have left,” the old woman accuses. Elphaba looks up at her with numb eyes. The old woman sighs and relents slightly. “What I mean to say is, as strong as successful as Lady Glinda was, she was so lonely. I think that’s why she liked this orphanage so much, why she was always sneaking to shelters in the city. Lady Glinda was very privileged, but with that privilege came great loneliness. She had the weight of the world on her shoulders, but she never shared it with anyone. She never let anyone else get close enough to be a friend because she was too scared of losing them like she lost you.”

“Please,” Elphaba rasps.

“You were the sadness in her eyes.”

“ _Please_ ,” Elphaba begs, swatting at the tears gathering in her eyes. This time the knife does catch on her forehead, but the thin sting of pain isn’t quite enough to ground Elphaba. 

“She loved you,” the old woman continues forcefully, though not unkindly. “No matter how many prospective suitors she had or how much her ministers pressured her for a heir she refused. Because she loved you. More than anything.”

Elphaba slaps a hand over her mouth to stifle her cry, and then she straightens her spine and reaches deep into her façade to pull up her composure, focusing on the small line of pain throbbing on her forehead. But one look at the old woman has Elphaba crumbling again. She sags in her seat and fights back tears.

“What was the actual date of her death?” Elphaba asks quietly.

“Exactly a year tomorrow,” the old woman answers, looking at Elphaba curiously. “Why?”

But Elphaba is already lost, remembering where she was a year ago. Fiyero and her had just entered Ix, planning to travel across the southern tip to reach Ev and hopefully set up a safe home for a while. That night Elphaba had a restless sleep, and after tossing and turning for a couple hours she had finally stood to pace the abandoned barn they were staying in. It was still completely dark out, and Elphaba had eventually left the barn, not bothering to mask the noise as she left. She didn’t particularly care if Fiyero heard her coming or going, nor did she particularly care if he cared. 

She had mounted her broom and flew high into the sky, wincing as a harsh wind blew the clouds away from the moon and turned its accusatory light on her. She landed near a forest and collapsed below a tree on the outskirts, curling herself into the tree truck to hide from the moon’s light. She didn’t sleep that night, but sat there, shaking in the cold and the regret and the pain. Across the road cutting past the edge of the forest was a small farm house, a single candle flickering dimly in the window. Elphaba stared at it all night, wondering who the candle was lit for, who they were waiting to welcome home. 

Elphaba hadn’t known why she was so restless that night, but knowing the date of Glinda’s supposed death makes her stomach twist itself into tight knots.

“Miss?” the old woman was saying when Elphaba finally blinks up at her. “Are you alright? You’ve gone, pardon me, simply grey.”

Elphaba stands and stumbles out of the kitchen, falling against the wall of the hallway. “I’m going to be sick,” she mutters.

“Well that just won’t do,” the old woman says. She brushes past Elphaba and grabs a bucket from the dining room, shoving it into Elphaba’s trembling hands, before disappearing back into the kitchen only to remerge a moment later with a mix of foul looking herbs. “Here,” she says, offering the bowl to Elphaba, “we give it to the kids when they aren’t feeling well.” Elphaba tries to refuse but the old woman pushes it closer to Elphaba’s face. The herbs smell worse than they look. “It will help.

Elphaba relents and spoons some of the mixture into her mouth. It soothes the nausea rising in her throat but does nothing for the knotted feeling in her stomach or the squeezing of her chest.

Despite this feeling, despite knowing how restless she was the night of Glinda’s supposed death, despite everyone telling her otherwise, Elphaba is still _certain_ that Glinda’s still alive. _Because if she isn’t—_ Elphaba shakes her head at the thought. No, Glinda must be alive. It’s impossible for her to be otherwise. Elphaba would _know_ if Glinda was dead, and Elphaba _knows_ that she isn’t

The old woman stares at her and then sighs. She places a warm hand on Elphaba’s thin forearm and doesn’t react when Elphaba jumps and shies away from the contact. “Her grave is three streets north of here. There is a small green area against the wall of the city. In it is a small cemetery, hidden amongst the trees. If the grave-keeper gives you trouble just tell him I sent you.”

Elphaba swallows and stares up at the old woman with dull eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You wanted to know,” the old woman says in confusion.

“No. I— I mean I did. But why you lied to me earlier when I asked.”

The old woman studies Elphaba for a long moment. The outside world has stilled and Elphaba takes deep breathes through her nose. Finally the old woman smiles sadly at Elphaba.

“Because you loved her too.”

 

* * *

 

Fiyero finally finds her that night, curled up in the shadow of a couple trees on the edge of the cemetery. She couldn’t bring herself to enter it that evening, not after her conversation with the old woman that afternoon. She spent twenty-nine years working up the courage to return to Oz, to Glinda, one more night wouldn’t do her much harm.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Fiyero says by way of greeting.

“Funny,” Elphaba says, but there’s no emotion in her voice, “I’ve been avoiding you everywhere.”

Fiyero moves in what might be a sigh should he be in possession of a pair of lungs. “What are you doing here?”

Elphaba sneers at him. “What does it matter?”

“You’re going to get sick out here,” Fiyero scolds, “Come back to the inn, we can keep looking for Glinda in the morning.”

Elphaba leaps up, the sudden movement sending Fiyero stumbling back a step. “You don’t get it do you,” she hisses. She doesn’t scream, but her voice is dangerously low and Fiyero stumbles back another step. “I’m doing this by myself. She was _my_ best friend, she was _my_ roommate, she was _my_ lo— S-She was my Glinda.”

Fiyero shuffles. “I knew her too,” he protests, but the words are awkward in his mouth, wrong to his ears.

“Not like I did,” Elphaba hisses, and Fiyero can’t argue with that.

Elphaba huffs and spins on her heel, facing back towards the cemetery and away from Fiyero. _In the morning_ , she thinks, _first thing in the morning I’ll march in there and prove myself right. Glinda is not dead_.

“Elphaba,” Fiyero murmurs, “you’re trembling.”

“It’s my fault,” Elphaba whispers brokenly, even though that’s not what she intended to say. “It’s my fault she was so alone. It was my fault she had to face Oz by herself.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Fiyero soothes from behind her and Elphaba turns to look at him and imagines, just for a second, lighting his straw on fire, just so he knows how she feels.

“But I abandoned her!” Elphaba shrieks, the scream trying to escape catching in her throat. “It’s all my fault.” Fiyero reaches for her but she jumps back, her face twisted in disgust, though whether it’s aimed at him or herself Fiyero doesn’t know, nor does he want to know. “Don’t touch me!”

“Elphaba, please.”

Elphaba advances towards him, jabbing her finger into his straw chest. “ _I_ left her alone. _I_ did this to her. _I_ cursed her to this lonely life.”

“She did it to herself.” Fiyero doesn’t mean to be cruel with his response, but he’s spent the past thirty years being second to Glinda. And while perhaps he is not quite human anymore, he still feels human emotions. He always knew, deep down, that whatever Elphaba felt for him paled in comparison to the blonde she left behind. Even without her being physically there, there was always a Glinda sized distance between Elphaba and him; even when their time together was good, Elphaba was always holding something of herself back. Fiyero eventually learned that part of her he could never access was the part of her she gave to the blonde long ago.

“How can you _say_ that?” Elphaba snarls, and the wind picks up, whipping leaves around them and bending the thick oak trees threateningly towards them, the wind pushes at Fiyero’s body and he clutches desperately at his body, trying to hold the straw together.

“Elphaba, please,” Fiyero begs nervously. 

Elphaba takes a breath and the wind dies down, the trees straighten, and the leaves flutter uselessly to the ground.

“Leave me,” Elphaba says harshly.

“Elphaba—”

“I said leave me!” The wind starts to pick up again. “I never want to see you again.”

“Elphaba, please—”

“Did you not hear me?” Elphaba howls above the wind, and Fiyero decides it’s time to obey her wishes before he loses all his straw.

“Okay,” he says, but the wind picks up faster. “Okay, Elphaba,” he yells, “I said okay.”

The wind dies down again and Elphaba’s shoulders sag a little, barely noticeably unless you’ve spent the last twenty-nine years with her.

“I guess this is it,” Fiyero says.

Elphaba softens, just for a moment. “I think we both knew this day would come.”

Fiyero looks away from her. “I know.”

Elphaba turns away from him and, just as he’s leaving, he can hear Elphaba murmur to herself something they had both thought over the years but never voiced, something Fiyero is sure she never meant for him to hear.

“I should have stayed with her.”

And then Fiyero is gone, and he never sees Elphaba again.

Elphaba looks up at the gates of the cemetery and waits for the sun to rise.


	4. she died alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally wrote this over Sunday night and Monday in the biggest spurt of inspiration I've ever had in my life, which was a shock to me lol. But I wanted to really edit it before I posted it and I'm glad I did to flesh out some parts of the story that I only mentioned at first. Thanks for reading!

_ "And Glinda in her gowns, waiting to be good enough to deserve what she gets." _

 

* * *

 

The gravestone is beautiful and well kept, but barren. There are no flowers or little trinkets left there, no evidence that anyone has been here besides the elderly and frail gravekeeper. Elphaba supposes it’s because no one knew Glinda well enough for that, even the people who were close to her knew that Glinda kept everyone at a polite distance. No one knew _Glinda_ , the bubbly schoolgirl that was Elphaba’s roommate and best friend and saw beyond the green far before anyone else did. _No one knows Glinda like I do,_ Elphaba thinks, before sinking to her knees in front of the gravestone, placing the small bouquet of flowers beside her.

_Or did_ , she amends.

As _certain_ as she had been over the past days that Glinda was somehow still alive throughout all of this, as soon as Elphaba stepped up to the grave she knew. She just _knew_ that her best friend and love is truly gone.

“Glinda,” Elphaba breathes. The cold wind sucks air out of her lungs in a long puff of white. Her entire body is numb, not from cold but from the unassuming gravestone in front of her. “I never wanted to leave you. I shouldn’t have even considered it.”

The gravestone doesn’t answer.

Elphaba settles herself closer to the stone and studies the new sprouts of grass under her knees. Her best friend, the only friend she had ever had, was just below her knees. The person she loved more than anything in the world was just below her knees, cold in the earth where, for once, Elphaba couldn’t reach her. Even during their years of separation Elphaba had always known Glinda was there, somewhere. Maybe not physically, but Glinda was always with Elphaba, never far from her thoughts. Elphaba knew that wherever she went, how ever far she travelled, she knew that Glinda would be there, waiting to welcome her home.

Now Elphaba realizes that all of that time she spent on the run searching for a safety she never found didn’t matter. No where she went was safe, not really, because she was missing the one person who made every place feel like home.

She thinks of Glinda, aging and growing without her. Of those blue eyes that lost their innocence but never their brightness. Of all the years Elphaba could have spent, of the years she _should_ have spent, with Glinda.

Elphaba traces a finger along the gravestone. “I’m sorry I left. I thought you would be safer here, and happier. But I was only being selfish, I left so that _I_ would be safe.”

The gravestone doesn’t answer. 

“ _Lady Glinda Upland_ ,” Elphaba murmurs aloud, running her hand along the swirling engraving, “ _May Her Goodness continue to protect Oz in her death as she did in her life_.” Elphaba swallows around a lump in her throat. “Oh, my sweet, how lonely you must have been.”

The gravestone doesn’t answer.

“I know it’s my fault, that you got left with the mess of Oz alone. But look at all you’ve done.” Elphaba wipes at her eyes and manages a smile at the stone. “You did it. You did everything I couldn’t do. You did everything I knew you could, and so much more.”

The gravestone doesn’t answer.

Elphaba sighs and sits back onto the damp grass, pulling her knees to her chest and leaving one hand resting against the stone. The cold wind nips at her fingers, numbing the tips. Elphaba welcomes the numbness, because she’s feeling too much of everything else. “I can’t imagine what you went through, but you were so strong. And so brave. Braver than I ever was.” Elphaba drops her forehead to her knees and sucks in a trembling breath. “And all by yourself too. Everything that Oz is now is thanks to you.” She looks up at the gravestone again, eyes caught on Glinda’s engraved name. “Everything that I am now is thanks to you.”

The gravestone doesn’t answer.

“I miss you,” Elphaba tries, “I thought it was impossible to miss you more than I did these past thirty years, but I do now.”

The gravestone doesn’t answer.

“It’s like something inside me is missing,” Elphaba murmurs, clutching her free hand to the clasp of the cloak Glinda had wrapped around her what feels like eons ago. “It’s you. You’re the missing piece.”

The gravestone doesn’t answer.

“I miss you,” Elphaba starts, and then her voice is lost to the pain swirling inside, to the tears pouring down her face.

Elphaba sits there until the sun starts its descent. And as she finally stands, bones aching and creaking and face itchy with dried tears, she looks at the three small unnamed gravestones behind Glinda’s, the ones she had ignored when she first arrived. All four gravestones are in a small clearing in the woods, just on the outskirts of the cemetery, far away from the main graves. Elphaba had thought it odd, that these graves were so far from the main plots of the cemetery, but the gravekeeper had assured the green woman that one of Glinda’s last wishes was to be buried with the other graves in this small clearing. Most Ozian rulers got a tomb in the private cemetery at the palace, but Glinda had been adamant that she be buried away from the palace, in the quiet groove just off the main graveyard of the West Quarter of the Emerald City, just north of Saint Aelphaba’s Orphanage.

The gravestone on the right reads _To the man with no heart, you deserved better than me_. Elphaba frowns at the engraving, wondering why the phrasing strikes a chord deep inside her. The middle gravestone is carved with what looks like Vinkan script, the English translation below it reads _To the man who stopped dancing, I wanted you to be happy too._

Beside that gravestone is the one directly behind Glinda’s. Elphaba moves closer to it and sees a bouquet of wilting sunflowers in front of it, the grass had long since grown over the mound of earth. In the dying sunlight Elphaba squints at the gravestone, struggling to read the engraving. _A twister of fate took you away,_ Elphaba reads and her heart thuds heavily somewhere that feels like her throat, _May you walk among the stars with the Unnamed God forever._ Elphaba swallows around the lump and shakes her head violently. _It couldn’t be… Could it?_

Elphaba spins back around to Glinda’s grave, catching sight of a fourth gravestone. This one is right beside Glinda’s grave and Elphaba wonders how she could have missed it before. Even though it’s the first time she’s laid eyes on it, she knows whose it is even before she walks around to the front side, scarcely believing her thoughts but somehow _knowing_ that it’s true.

This gravestone had obviously been well-kept over the years, but had fallen into disrepair recently. There’s a bouquet of lilies sitting in a small vase in front of the smooth white stone. The lilies hadn’t been touched in so long and they were starting wilt, but Elphaba can sense the magic humming in a bubble around them that had kept them alive for this long. The gravestone remains almost pristine, with only are a few spots of rust forming on the top. The golden leaves of fall cover a grave plot Elphaba knows is empty.

Elphaba knows whose grave is even before she crouches to finger the pink and green lily petals, before she sees how the stone glows faintly emerald in the setting sun, before she runs her fingers over the writing.

_For the only friend who mattered._

The tears come unbidden, and Elphaba’s sobbing before she takes her next breath. It’s through this haze of tears that she reads the last line on the gravestone.

_I’m so sorry, my love._

Elphaba manages to stumble back over to Glinda’s grave before she collapses in a pile of dark fabric, fingers digging into the top of the rough gravestone as she sobs into her elbow.

The moon is rising by the time Elphaba stops crying enough to look at Glinda’s gravestone. Both of their gravestones glow almost white in the moonlight, beside each other in death the way they couldn’t be in life, and Elphaba wishes that she was in the empty ground under the unmarked grave. 

Then it wouldn’t hurt as much.

Then she could be with Glinda again.

“Oh Glinda, my sweet,” Elphaba murmurs to the gravestone, taking a trembling breath. “I love you.”

The gravestone doesn’t answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Reasons I wrote Fiyero and Elphaba's relationship the way I did: In short, Fiyero has no real character arc, but there are lots of meta on that. My focus was that Elphaba and Fiyero had even less development as a couple. The spent, what, maybe a couple weeks at Shiz mooning over each other, and then Fiyero spent the next (presumably) years being with Glinda but longing for a woman he barely knew?? And he was kind of an (unintentional maybe, but still) asshole about it too. (And also in the first bootleg I watched the way Fiyero said “She can’t know. Nobody can. Not if we want to be safe” just came off as really rude honestly. Like I dunno, it just seemed harsher than necessary. I’ve seen other bootlegs since then there where the actor plays Fiyero as a lot gentler and I don’t mind him there, but the first Fiyero just stuck with me I guess.)
> 
> And another thing, like, when Elphaba and Glinda are fighting and Elphaba throws her and Fiyero's relationship in Glinda’s face. She says something like “That someone like him could actually choose someone like me...[yada yada yada]...He never belonged to you. He doesn’t love you and he never did. He loves me.” Like Elphaba, you’re more focused on Fiyero choosing you than you are on him loving you. And this entire thing is just to shove it in Glinda’s face. Even when Fiyero and Elphaba’s relationship are technically in a relationship, it’s still about Elphaba and Glinda. Anyways these kids are super dumb tbh.
> 
> To be fair though, there’s so many different fanfiction versions of Fiyero that I absolutely adore so I don’t know. He’s a very weird character for me.


End file.
